


Of What's Left of Us and Who We Used to Be

by runicmagitek



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fencing, First Kiss, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, Mild knife play, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Starting Over, Surreal Elements, but they make it work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 10:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicmagitek/pseuds/runicmagitek
Summary: No matter how many times Juri tries to forget her, she can't. And when a prized memento returns to Juri, she's done with staying quiet—she needs to confront Shiori once and for all.
Relationships: Arisugawa Juri/Takatsuki Shiori
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilMuffins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/gifts).

“Next!”

Steel lunged for her. Shoe soles squeaked and metal clashed. The opening was like a gaping wound left unattended. She parried and stepped forward.

A sure strike. The riposte rendered her opponent frozen. Applause swelled in the vast space. He bowed and thanked her, but Juri focused on the line behind him.

“Next!”

This one was slower and stiffer, akin to an old tree. Juri positioned herself to strike. One, two—like a dance. Lunge and connect. She skidded to a halt as her foil bent—another victory.

More applause, more brave souls queueing up to challenge on the fencing club’s unbeatable captain.

She sighed, disregarding the ache in her upper back and thighs. “Next!”

The following student approached and Juri almost dropped her foil.

Short, dark magenta hair framed the face regarding her. Anyone else and Juri would have lectured them on approaching without a mask. But Takatsuki Shiori wasn’t just anyone.

She cradled her mask under her arm, balancing a foil in a free hand. Pushing stubborn locks out of her eyes, she offered a slight smile. “Yes, senpai!”

Juri stared, glad she donned her own mask not simply for safety precautions, but to hide her wide, green eyes and scowl. She didn’t dare reveal the cracks surfacing in her armor, tempered over time by bitter resentment. Let Ohtori Academy’s student body believe she lacked empathy—it was better that way. Nothing made Juri flinch.

Except for the girl opposite her.

For an entire month, Shiori attended the fencing club meets. Every day, her appearance sucker punched Juri as if it were the first day. She didn’t wear her mask then, either; she _wanted_ to be seen, to inform Juri of who she faced. Juri bested her in a physical spar, but Shiori could disarm her with a single look.

She always had. No doubt she planned to use that against Juri—again. What exactly was beyond her, though Juri knew better than to pry. No sense in repeating history for the sake of curiosity.

Thus Juri stood, ignoring the skips in her pulse and breath. She clutched the foil until her knuckles dared to puncture her gloves. _What do you want?_ she wondered. _What do you gain for coming here? For coming to _me_?_

Shiori’s smile faded beneath the mask she secured over her head. She bowed, swept a foot back, and bent into her stance. Almost a mirror image of Juri’s style, handed down from her lessons with Ruka and modified to accentuate her strengths. It didn’t suit someone as small and frail as Shiori; her wrist was limp, her shoulders slumped, her knees too far past her ankles.

And Juri loved all those imperfections the same as the smiling face seconds ago.

Inhale, exhale. Juri assumed her stance and readied her foil. Inhale, lunge. Feet shuffled backwards, scuffing the floors with a pronounced squeak. Metal never struck, let alone brush by. Her blade bent and it was finished.

She focused on the rise and fall of Shiori’s chest, the fleeting tremble in her hand before she lowered her weapon. Juri held her foil in place until Shiori bowed.

“Thank you, senpai.”

And she turned to leave, joining the faceless masks lining the walls to witness Arisugawa Juri prove why she was the captain. Whether in awe or fear, they marveled at her prowess and dexterity. And Juri disregarded them to try and follow the one who could beat her. But Shiori was lost, even to Juri.

Part of her wanted to laugh. Yet another thing she could never obtain. No miracle could mend a broken heart.

Releasing a breath, Juri flung her arm to the side and glared at the dwindling line. “Next!”

* * *

“Impressive as always, Juri-san!”

“You could learn a thing or two, if that’s the case.” Her lips curled as she looked to Miki. “Your form hasn’t improved since last week.”

“I promise I’ll practice more,” Miki insisted, picking up his pace while they walked to the dormitories.

“Be careful not to practice too much. We wouldn’t want your sister to worry.”

“Ah, I don’t think that will be a problem.”

Juri raised a brow. “No?”

“She’s been occupied with her studies, for once.”

“Maybe you’ve been rubbing off on her.”

His cheeks flushed. “Maybe. Part of me has grown used to her and her ways. Kind of like a shadow—it’s there, whether we like it or not.” Nervous laughter sputtered from Miki. “I don’t _mind_ her being around, but… she’s changed. We _all_ have, in a sense.”

Juri didn’t need to ask; the lack of a rose signet on both their hands was enough. The bells rang to indicate the passage of time and changeover in classes instead of marking the beginning and end of a duel. No more student council meetings discussing the letters from End of the World, no more Rose Bride or engagements, no more rivalries on the baseless foundations of revolutionizing the world. Whatever that meant, anymore. Maybe it never _did _mean anything. Who were they to know? Utena was gone and so was Anthy.

No one else in the student body noticed. Gossip ebbed and flowed the first week Utena didn’t arrive at her classes, but no one questioned further. Life went on. For Juri, she clung to whatever constants existed before that fated, final duel; it kept her from teetering into a darkness she refused to call home.

“You’re still acing your classes,” she eventually said, eyes to the blue skies which once held that magnificent castle—vanished, like waking from a dream. “And you attend your extracurriculars. Hardly anything’s changed for you.”

“When you put it like that,” Miki said, “you have a point. But still….”

“What is it?”

“I feel like I hadn’t prepared for my future. With everything unfolding, I just… figured my life—fate, even—was decided, that I had to play along. It was nice, at times. Being able to go about life without thought… it’s kind of luxurious. But I know better now. Still, facing each day without any instructions to carry out… I feel empty, yet free.” He shook his head and averted his gaze. “I’m rambling right now, aren’t I?”

“No,” she murmured, more surprised by her own reply than Miki’s confession. “I understand.”

He tilted his head to meet her gaze. There was an innocence in those blue eyes, but he meant well. _That_ never changed. Juri couldn’t say that about everyone who basked in oblivion.

Especially not for _her_.

“Really?” Miki asked. “I… no, forget it.”

Juri slowed her stride, ignoring their peers passing by and the afternoon sun warming her face. “What is it?”

Miki sighed. “I guess I figured it didn’t faze you. You always did your own thing, Juri-san, regardless of everyone’s opinion. Why is now any different?”

_But everything _is_ different,_ she wanted to quip. _I didn__’t let anyone suspect it._

If her secret involved anything else, Juri might have prided in knowing even Kaoru Miki didn’t suspect her intentions. But she kept that locked in her soul and tossed the key; it died with the dueling grounds, where she lost more than a stupid duel.

She blinked and hitched her breath. She remembered the rain, the rose petals in her palm. She remembered the metal chain breaking and the locket floating in the air. She didn’t believe it. She didn’t _want_ to. A sword through her heart would have hurt less.

Juri forsook it with whatever aspirations she had for winning. She crushed her own rose until each petal loosened. She couldn’t win. Not so much the duels, but her own internal struggle to prove… what _was_ she proving? That she was right and Shiori was wrong? That nothing could sway the likes of her, even if Shiori plastered photographs of the locket’s contents throughout the campus?

That she could live without Shiori ever loving her?

“Juri-san?”

Elementary students strolled by and laughed in unison. A breeze shifted between her and Miki, yet they stood still.

“Are you alright?” he asked, brows knitted with concern.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, perhaps too quickly.

He smiled. “So, does that mean you _have_ changed?”

“You can think what you like.” She resumed walking, tossing her tight curls over her shoulder. “The lack of meetings and letters don’t change my outlook.”

“No?” He stayed alongside her. “And what is that, exactly?”

“Continue to exceed my own standards, I suppose. We didn’t get this far in life by lowering our expectations. Maybe we can focus on just that, now with the duels gone. We can be the best versions of ourselves.”

“I guess you’re right,” Miki said, hesitating briefly. “I can’t help but be jealous, Juri-san.”

She blinked and looked to Miki. “Are you? Of what?”

“I wish I was as collected and composed as you. I tend to wear my feelings on my sleeves.”

Juri blinked and inhaled the fresh scent of a rose. A smiling face—so oblivious, so _cruel_—flashed before her. A hand teased her jacket, a single layer between eager fingertips and a locket.

She swallowed hard. “Maybe then you’d make top ten at the next fencing tournament.”

Miki’s jaw dropped. Juri laughed and swept an arm around him as he sputtered.

“Don’t worry about it,” she assured him. “The more you focus on it, the more it will distract you.”

His shoulders rode up his neck, squished against Juri while lacking the strength and finesse to free himself. “Is that your secret, then?”

Her smile wavered. “Perhaps.”

“If one thing is for certain, I doubt anyone will ever top you in fencing. Maybe once you graduate, but until then? You’ll be the best.”

Juri looked elsewhere. “I suppose so.”

“Do you have any plans after all of this?”

“After graduation?”

“Of course.” His voice grew softer. Juri loosened her hold on him, yet he didn’t wriggle away.

“Some modeling agencies are fighting over who will get my signature on their contract.” She shrugged and her lips quirked in unison. “It’s a fallback, anyways. Or I might try designing the fashions instead of wearing them. Start up my own boutique and everything.”

“You’ll have the financial skills to tackle that, being treasurer and all.”

What a painfully hilarious truth; she spent more time involved in duels than scrutinizing who was overdue on their class dues.

“Will you keep fencing?” Miki asked, as if reading her mind.

“I don’t know,” Juri said slowly, her words as distant as her mind.

“My parents said if you’re good at something, you should put it to use. Like a career.”

“Is that what _you_ think or what your parents think?”

“The latter. At one point I thought the same, but….”

“But?”

“I’d rather be happy, regardless of what I do with my talents. Life shouldn’t be spent in agony over things we have no control over.”

Miki continued, though it fell upon deaf ears. Juri stared ahead, her expression blank while her mind screamed. Whatever hopes and dreams sparked within her upon graduation possessed the same value—she desired to be in control of her fate, for once. Only then could she deem herself as free. No more adults dictating her life, no more peers spewing gossip with the intent to tear her down.

No more so-called friends donning masks to steal her heart and smash it.

Or adulthood was no different than being a student. Perhaps there were other responsibilities to be chained to, but chains were just that. She hated the shackles welded to her heart. Maybe if it was visible, then people wouldn’t view her as composed and confident as they believed she was.

One day, Juri wanted to sever her binds and fly. Even if it was only possible in dreams, she desired that.

_Stop that,_ she chided. _What are you? A toddler? Such nonsense will make the burden heavier._

“Speaking of fencing.”

Juri’s breath caught in her throat. Despite missing a majority of his chatter, the mention of fencing jerked her to reality. He brought his bright gaze to her, both curious and cautious.

“It seems Shiori-san has taken well to sparring,” he said. “Others had expected her to drop out after a week, but… she’s still around. And doing great, all things considered.”

“She can’t parry to save her life,” Juri spat out.

Miki’s brows furrowed slightly. “No one can against _you_.”

“Are you suggesting I should go easy on her?”

“Hardly, but I do admire her resilience. Many have attended practice and leave halfway through their first meet, usually in tears after facing you.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Well… maybe the other fencing members are, but that’s what I’ve heard and… I wouldn’t be too surprised if that were the case.”

_Better to be feared than to live in fear,_ Juri thought.

“I figured you’d be happy for her.”

It took every ounce of willpower not to sink her nails into his shoulder. “And why is that?”

“She’s you’re friend, right? Or she was.”

“If she _was_, then why do you think we still _are_?”

“With everything else changing, it’s no surprise people will do just that, too. My sister has changed. My _sister_, Juri-san! Surely that’s enough proof.”

Juri lowered her head. What did she have to gain with starting fresh with Shiori? Were they to erase the memories of the wounds they shared for civility? Juri clicked her tongue. She doubted Shiori attended fencing practice to better herself; she had a purpose, a scheme to implement and watch fester. Dropping her guard for a second meant Shiori won. She already had. Again and again and again. For every fencing tournament Juri dominated, it was a mountain of failures paling to the likes of the girl who never reciprocated her love.

Because why love someone when you can torment them? _That_ sounded like the Shiori Juri knew. No miracle convinced her otherwise.

But to believe in miracles....

“Did you ever find it?” Juri murmured.

“Um… find what?”

“Your shining thing.”

Miki stifled laughter, the sound borderline painful. “It might sound silly, but I like to think I have. Not entirely in the way I envisioned it months ago, but it’s here.” He placed a palm over his chest. A tender smile overcame his features. “Right inside of me. Maybe it was the entire time. You can laugh if you want, but knowing I’m my own brilliance makes facing this world easier, right?”

_Oh, Miki. Why am I not surprised? And yet__…._ Juri’s hand fell from his shoulder. By the time Miki registered the missing weight, Juri snapped her arms to her sides.

“Juri-san?” He ducked in front to catch her stare. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” She paused, then, “This is my building.”

He spun around the find the entrance to the senior high women’s dormitory in the sweep distance. “Ah, it is. I can’t wait to move out of the junior high building.”

She hummed. “Take care, Miki.”

“Enjoy your evening, Juri-san! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Before reaching the main doors, she peered back. Miki faded into the distance, walking to his own building to drown in books until he passed out. There was an extra bounce in his step, too. Maybe it had to do with this so-called change he mentioned—that shining thing he discovered within himself.

It was what spurred him to participate in the duels and ultimately led to his defeat. Juri was no different. Except she still didn’t believe in miracles. Never.

All that those supposed miracles bestowed her with was heartache. The power to revolutionize the world couldn’t fix that.

* * *

The lock clicked. Juri nudged the door open and flipped on the light switch. The dark room glowed thanks to the warm lamps on her dresser and desk. Several frames of class photos and fencing tournaments graced the various surfaces and nothing more. The white walls dulled from sunlight. The quaint room was suited for a museum exhibit than Juri’s private space.

What mementos was she to display? She feared prying eyes would scan the room for an inkling of gossip, even when she invited no one to her room. The solitude did little to ease the anxiety; it was for her own safety, yet Juri wallowed in the silence, wishing she had the courage to scream what she smothered for years.

_Change,_ she thought, trading out of her uniform for casual wear. _Sometimes we change things that don__’t need to be changed. Just to say we can. Why change what isn’t broken?_ She scoffed. _Though it would be nice. To be happy, to be _free_…._

For all that Miki envied in her, Juri longed for what he now claimed as his. No letter stated demands; Miki acted on his own accord. Such freedom was a pleasant notion, but Juri doubted Miki carried a secret close to his heart.

Juri placed a hand over her chest. Out of habit, or so she told herself. Nothing lingered beneath the simple shirt—only her beating heart. _I need to forget her. Easier said than done when she shows up _daily_ at fencing club meets. It__’s like she’s taunting me._

Shuffling towards her desk, she peered about her room. “Mochi?” She made kissy sounds. “Mochi, where are you?” Then she paused by her chair and caught sight of what she was looking for. Smirking, she carefully pulled out the chair. “There you are!”

Curled up on the seat cushion was a black and white tuxedo cat, fast asleep and unaware of Juri’s advances. She hovered a hand over his head and scritched behind his ears. A loud _brrrp_ sounded from him as he jerked awake. With a massive stretch and yawn, he sat up and purred.

“I missed you,” Juri cooed, rubbing beneath his white, furry throat. “It’s been such a long day. Makes me wish I was a sleepy kitty lounging around.” Mochi nuzzled into Juri’s hand. “How about we get something to munch on before slaving over homework?”

Mochi bounced off the seat as Juri dug out a container of dry kibbles. He rubbed along her calf, meowing and flicking his tail against her until she scooped a generous amount into his bowl. With the cat fed, Juri refilled both his water dish and her electric hot pot. In time, she’d have ramen at her disposal. Venturing to the cafeteria for dinner didn’t appeal to her. Not after her chat with Miki. Not after the idea that she might bump into _her_ again.

Juri sighed and leaned against a wall, arms folded against her torso. The water transitioned from a simmer to a boil. She gazed out the window by her bed, overlooking the campus of Ohtori Academy. Students walked the paved paths, unaware of anything outside of their bubble. _It really is like nothing has changed._ Steam rose from the hot pot. Bubbles surfaced and sputtered. The roiling boil begged for Juri’s attention. She turned from the window and gasped.

Her eyes glued to the pristine, tucked-in bed, where a golden chain with a rose-shaped charm nestled on her pillow.

No, this wasn’t right. That… that didn’t _belong_ here anymore.

Juri violently shook her head. This was a dream. And when she came to, that cursed locket would vanish and she would be free from—

She stared, unblinking. Her hands clawed her scalp. Every inch of her trembled.

Ignoring the boiling water, Juri approached her bed. Each step brought another skip in her heart. _It__’s not there,_ she thought. _Y__ou’re seeing things._

Yet she loomed over the mattress and gazed upon the very locket she lost that day. The duel had been the least of her concern, after all.

_No_. She pried her hands from her hair. Fingertips skimmed the cold metal lying on the pillow. It was as if it never broke, never went missing—it was where it belonged.

Juri scooped up the locket. The gold petals glistened in the light. Her thumb ran over the latch securing it closed. No matter how many times she stared at its contents in privacy, she feared something else replaced the image she tucked in there years ago. What if it was gone? What if a blackmail note greeted her? Juri held her breath and popped it open.

The photograph lodged inside was the same as the day she slipped it in.

There was a time when she attempted to rid herself of her locket. Despite chucking it into the water, it returned to her. And she recalled _who_ presented the keepsake to her.

She closed a fist over the charm. She restrained the urge to chuck it across the room, to scream, to destroy everything so the world would properly reflect her suffering. Deep breaths flowed through her, yet offered no relief. Her shoulders rolled up her neck and her jaw set. Juri tossed the necklace onto her nightstand, pivoted away, and finished preparing her ramen.

* * *

Dusk swept over Ohtori Academy. The students either retired to their dorms to finish homework or meandered, seeking opportunities to experience life beyond textbooks and chores. The sporadic chatter echoed, then faded to silence. Architecture basked in orange hues. A cool breeze cut through the warm air. The myriad buildings cast long shadows.

And then they came to life.

A silhouette of a schoolgirl walked across a wall, humming and clutching a bottle. Another popped out from the ground behind her.

“My, my!” B-ko exclaimed. “Why a magnificent bottle you have there!”

A-ko held it over her head. “Isn’t it?! I used it to gather water from the stream!”

“Are you going to boil noodles in it for tonight’s meal?”

A-ko tilted her head. “Hmmm… no.”

“Uh… what about to bathe in?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a _drink_?!”

“Not this water!” She reached for a sliver of a shadow and opened a door. “I am taking this and putting it somewhere special.”

B-ko followed A-ko inside. “Oh, like for a special occasion?”

“No!” She stashed it in a cupboard. “I’m hiding this somewhere safe, so nothing will happen to it!”

B-ko slumped and groaned, though A-ko commenced cooking preparations in the tiny kitchen. Amidst her humming and sizzling, she gasped and winced.

“What’s the matter?!” B-ko asked, sitting at a table and cradling a steaming teacup.

“My roof!” A-ko flailed at the top of the wall, where water droplets fell. “It’s leaking! Oh no, this won’t do!”

B-ko sipped more of her drink while A-ko broke out hammers and nails to fix said ceiling. Once the banging subsided, she leaned into a wall, sighed, and wiped an arm across her forehead.

“There!” A-ko clapped her hands clean. “That should do—_Ahhhh!_”

A solid shadow rose from the bottom, the top resembling stylized water lines akin to a toddler’s scribbles. A-ko leaped onto a chair and pointed at the rising, shadowy mass.

“The floors!” A-ko said. “The whole house is flooding!”

B-ko sat in a rowboat and floated out the front door. “What?! How can that be?!”

Donning pool floaties and snorkel gear, A-ko brandished her hammer. “I will put an end to this! Then I can resume my cooking!”

A series of banging, sawing, and drilling sounded in the distance. The water level dropped. B-ko’s boat sat outside the house, along with some splashing fish and a rubber ducky.

“Did you fix it?” B-ko called out, one hand cupped beside her mouth.

A-ko shuffled out, doubled over. “That does it.” With a tremendous sigh, she returned to standing and lifted a single finger overhead. “This place is waterproof, now! Not a thing will stop me—”

Thunder cracked overhead. A flash a light banished the shadows on the wall momentarily. Once it receded, shadowy rain poured down. B-ko and A-ko squealed, unable to shield themselves from the torrential downpour. The house buckled and collapsed beneath the weight of the rain. Again the area flooded.

“Quick!” B-ko yelled. “Jump in!”

A-ko looked to the destroyed house. “But… my bottle!”

Shadows inched up the wall, consuming everything until darkness engulfed Ohtori Academy. Silence returned to the corridors. Stray students ran past the area, laughing amongst themselves and unaware of the water filtering through the drains or the forgotten rubber ducky stuck between the grates.


	2. Chapter 2

Shoes skidded across pristine floors. Foils crashed into one another, thwarting a barrage of thrusts to ensure victory. Then it fell to a hush, a standstill. After a pause, it looped. It lived in Juri’s mind despite the classroom lectures, the walks between buildings, and the lunchtime lull.

She replayed the same sequences and techniques. Each instance slightly different, in case conversations or actions veered from what was anticipated. She imagined the breaks between words, the gaze evading her own, and the curling lips begging her to strike until the moment shattered.

Today was another day. More classes, more homework, more nuisances clogging her agenda until the fencing club meet. And _she_ would be there, because why break an attendance streak now? This time would be different. _This_ time, Juri refused to be swayed by a pretty smile.

This time, Shiori would not win. And when Juri was finished, there would be nothing left worthy of remembering.

Students greeted Juri and she walked by without a hello. Let the junior high students conceive more lies about her icy exterior; maybe after today, they would understand what it meant to fear the likes of Arisugawa Juri.

The final bells chimed in the distance. She perked up and glanced out a window to witness the colossal bells swinging. Chairs scraped the floor. Idle chatter boomed over their teacher shouting the due date of their argumentative essays. Juri paid little attention, gathering her belongings and flowing with the crowd to head to practice.

Once changed into her fencing attire, Juri folded her school uniform and paused. A gloved hand smoothed over the fabric. Despite the ploys from End of the World terminating, the student council wore their assigned uniforms. Perhaps to maintain a sense of normalcy within the academy. They _were_ still the student council. And yet Juri hesitated to wear anything outside of that or her fencing garb.

_Where is my place in this world?_ she wondered. _What will I do when my home is no longer here? Will I ever be—_

Juri shoved the uniform into her locker and shut it. After a deep inhale, she retrieved her foil, propped it against her shoulder, and headed for the practice arena.

The usual spectators gathered on the upper balcony. Several younger students practiced their techniques with one another. Those who noticed Juri strolling in stood straighter and held their heads high.

“Good afternoon, senpai!” they said in unison.

The more absent-minded students joined in a beat later, albeit with a stutter. Juri paid no attention to them or the adoring fans from above; she scanned the area for someone else. Half were masked faces and those that weren’t didn’t hold a sweetly toxic smile.

“Senpai!” Miki rushed to meet her, per usual. “It’s good to see you. Do you have time to go over some sequences with me before the spars begin? I’m having trouble recovering after—”

“Later.” Juri moved past him. “We’re beginning now.”

“Senpai?”

She secured her mask on. “Round everyone up. We’ll start in five minutes.”

“O-of course!”

Once she completed a quick warm-up, a line filed along the wall. Murmurs hummed like summer cicadas. Again Juri scouted the students. She sucked in a breath and clenched a fist. Did she skip practice?

_No,_ Juri corrected. _If you were stupid enough to pull a stunt like that yesterday, you__’d want to show up to rub it my face. Or at least see my reaction. _Juri rolled her shoulders. _And that__’s exactly what you’ll get._

Approaching the center of the room, Juri whipped her foil to her side and yelled, “Next!”

The whispers quieted. The first student jogged to meet her, perhaps too eager to welcome defeat. Juri swore she struck a statue. Polite applause trickled in. She stepped back and glared ahead.

“Next!”

Opponent after opponent, they approached with the intent of claiming victory. One by one, they failed. Mere seconds hung between the beginning and the end. Each step—both confident and hesitant—skittered across the floor and into the rafters. The twang of metal chimed. Then it came to a standstill; Juri was victorious.

More applause, more opponents. It was like swatting flies and Juri did so with no remorse. Several staggered from her violent blows. Another wave of whispers circulated. Juri closed her eyes and blocked it out.

_Where are you?_

“Next!”

Her eyes opened. Another student approached, yet Juri focused past them. The one next in line removed their mask to lean in and whisper something to the girl behind. Magenta hair bounced free. Juri held her breath. Their gazes never met.

“Senpai?”

She glared at her challenger, who winced at the slight tilt of Juri’s head. Stepping into position, Juri raised her foil and waited for the student to follow suit. Seconds before the spar, her focus shifted to her next opponent.

Just one more. Then she could put Shiori in her place. Had she not learned from what Ruka submitted her to? This was beyond public humiliation; this was a warning that Shiori could _never_ control her again.

_I won_ _’t let you. Not for a second._

Movement blurred from her peripherals. She whipped her head to center and gasped. Juri parried the first lunge, albeit wide. Too wide. Gasps rolled through the hall.

Juri unleashed a flurry of attacks, forcing her opponent backwards. She smirked. Despite the dull ache in her body, she refused to relinquish her upper hand for momentary relief. Rest would come after her spar with Shiori. This wasn’t Shiori’s place. Whatever trust dangled between them—even a threadbare string—was to be ripped apart.

And her eyes flicked to Shiori. She giggled with whoever was behind her, more interested in rumors than fencing. Then she turned and fiddled with her mask. She stopped, looked to Juri, and smiled.

Juri swore she imagined that kind face.

Shoes scuffed the floor. Foils thrust and caught air. It skidded to a halt as a single strike landed true. No applause surfaced.

Juri panted and glanced down; the foil's poked her clavicle.

_No. This is a joke. This can_ _’t be—_

“T-thank you, senpai.” Her opponent retracted the foil and bowed. “It was an honor to spar with—”

Juri pivoted and marched towards the opposite wall. Not a soul moved, though the eyes of what felt like the entire world followed her every step. Juri removed her mask, chucked it to the side, and collapsed into her captain’s seat.

She examined the room, swearing statues replaced everyone. “Well?” she called out. “Proceed!”

Everyone grew an inch taller.

“Y-yes, senpai!” her opponent-turned-victor replied, swapping positions to give Shiori room.

Juri tried not to glare at her as she slipped her mask on or when she lunged with a grace that only a few students exhibited or when she landed a precise strike. Juri ignored the cheers and the few students who congratulated Shiori firsthand. Juri simply snapped her fingers and yelled, “Next!”

The excitement waned, but the wind carried whispers laden with gossip.

“Did you see that?”

“Juri-senpai was on a roll and then….”

“I wonder what made her slip?”

“That’s so unlike her.”

“Exams are coming up, right? Maybe she’s stressed about that.”

“Juri-senpai? _Stressed_? Nothing bothers her!”

The voices intertwined until they melded into a buzz amidst clashing foils. She drowned in that hum, missing whoever approached her.

“Senpai?”

She fluttered her eyes and found Miki. How long had he been there?

“You did excellent today,” he said in a hushed voice. “Twelve wins in a row? That almost beats your record!”

“Almost.” Juri looked past him. Shiori continued to reign supreme. “Not enough, though.”

“Regardless—” Miki took a seat beside her. “—there’s no denying your skill.”

He prattled on, but a pronounced ring flooded her ears. She glared through Shiori as she finally lost a match. It didn’t knock the smile off her face when she removed her mask.

Not yet.

* * *

“Shiori.”

The small group loitering on the opposite end of the locker room quieted their delightful chatter. Shiori giggled and looked to Juri. “Yes, senpai?”

“I need you to stay,” Juri said.

“Um.” Shiori glanced at the others. “I don’t think I can. I have plans for this—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.” Juri stashed her foil in the locker and retrieved a long, cloth bundle. “Meet me in the arena.”

“But, senpai—”

Juri slammed her locker door shut. With the bundle tucked under her arm, she strolled by Shiori and the students, never giving them the satisfaction of acknowledging their presence. Juri rounded a corner, exited the locker rooms, and paused. Whispers seeped out, ones fearing Juri’s intentions.

She didn’t linger to decipher any of it.

Dusk spilled through the high windows. Towering shadows of the pillars stretched across the floor and raced up the wall. Juri ambled into the empty space. Her shoes echoed to the ceiling, as soft as the bells signaling the new hour. Pausing in the middle, she tilted her head and gazed out the windows. Silhouetted birds flew by. Clouds swirled like frozen flames against the setting sun.

It reminded her of the last duel with Ruka, where she—

“Senpai!”

Juri peered over her shoulder. Shiori jogged up to meet her, holding her mask and foil in her arms.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” she said, smiling as always. “You said you wanted—”

“Discard your foil.”

Shiori’s smile wavered. Oh-so slightly, but Juri noticed. “Senpai?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Shiori hesitated, then propped her foil against a nearby wall. Upon returning, she stood before Juri, mask cradled under her arm.

“Is everything alright, senpai?” Shiori asked.

Juri held her tongue and unraveled the bundle. Two scabbards nestled within the cloth—her rapier and Miki’s used in the duels. But they no longer needed them. Miki forsook his weapon and Juri convinced him to give it to her; no sense in disposing of a perfectly good blade. And she took care of both, as if anticipating the duels at a second’s notice.

But the Rose Bride was no more and no one received a letter from End of the World.

Juri tossed the smaller scabbard to Shiori. She fumbled, yet clutched the sheathed blade. Her smile vanished and her brows lifted.

“What is this?” Shiori asked, her words as cautious as her movements.

“This?” Juri unsheathed her rapier and tossed the scabbard. The metallic chime vibrated in the air. Juri gripped the hilt; she missed wielding it. “This is a spar.”

Shiori’s eyes widened. “With _real_ swords?”

“Is there a _problem_?”

“N-no, senpai.” She paused, staring at her scabbard. “I just… don’t understand why we’re—”

Juri lunged. Shiori gasped and cowered. They froze. The tip of Juri’s blade lingered inches from Shiori’s chest. Light, shallow breaths flowed through Shiori. Juri held her stance, not a muscle twitching.

“If you plan on staying on the fencing club,” Juri said, “then you must treat each spar as if your life depends on it. Show me you wish to take this seriously.”

Shiori’s bright eyes flicked to Juri. “And if I don’t take it seriously?”

Juri lifted the blade until the tip stared down Shiori, who gasped in reply. “Then consider this a warning not to take me lightly.”

Juri pivoted and retreated; with adequate space separating them, she secured her mask, pivoted, and raised her rapier. A blank expression washed over Shiori. Was it another guise she donned? Juri almost preferred the forced smile; at least then she was familiar with what lies soaked Shiori’s tongue.

But this? This she wasn’t fond of.

Shiori gingerly unsheathed her sword. It suited her; she and Miki were similar in height, but whether she could wield it half as well as he did was unknown. Not for long, though.

She fastened her mask and raised her sword. By then, Juri lunged.

Shiori barely parried. She stumbled, yet Juri pursued her. Metal clashed. Between each strike, Shiori panted. Or maybe she yelped. It was hard to tell. And honestly, Juri didn’t care to differentiate the two.

Her blade stopped inches in front of Shiori’s masked face. “You’re not trying.”

“How do you expect me to—”

Juri batted away Shiori’s rapier with her own. Stepping backwards, she reached her initial starting point. “Again.”

Shiori didn’t move. Not at first. She shuffled to center and lifted her blade to meet Juri’s. Her arm was barely parallel with the ground once Juri attacked again.

It was less of a duel and more of a massacre. None of Shiori’s advances mattered; Juri was captain for a reason and she proved it with every lunge, parry, and riposte. Shiori couldn’t defend herself from a fly, let alone a seasoned fencer.

Juri cut the air next to Shiori’s throat, the blade close enough to kiss her skin if her jacket collar wasn’t there.

“Do you think this is a game?” she growled at Shiori.

Those tiny shoulders tensed. “A _game_? Why would I think that? _You__’re_ the one who—”

Juri retracted her sword. “_Again_.”

But she never returned to center, never gave Shiori the chance to breathe; Juri coiled like a viper and lunged with rapid precision. Shiori shrieked, holding up her hands in defense. Their blades met and the force knocked Shiori off balance.

“Everything to you is a game,” Juri spat out, casually approaching for strike after strike. “If it’s something you can twist and bend, then you make sure _you_ break it and you alone.”

“What are you—” She jumped from Juri’s sweeping slash, using her sword more as a shield than a weapon. “Why are you doing this?!”

Juri coughed up half-hearted laughter. “I should be asking you the same thing: showing up to practice, even though you don’t belong here.”

Shiori shuffled to a halt. “Is _that_ what this is about?” That innocent tone took a spiteful turn. “You don’t want me here, so you feel the need to… do _whatever_ it is you think you’re accomplishing?!”

_That__’s not true_, a tiny voice sounded from the corner of her soul. _I _do _want you here. And yet—_

“After what you’ve done to me,” Juri seethed, “I’m being merciful right now.”

Shiori chuckled—such a disgustingly sweet sound. “Ah yes, because _you_ know what’s best. For the school, for the fencing club, for your friends, for yourself.” She held her ground as their swords clashed. Only a foot apart. She matched Juri’s strength. “For _me_.”

Another duel flashed before Juri—of when she confronted Ruka, for the sake of Shiori. She walked away during that horrible display in front of the entire student body, but she stomped to Shiori’s abuser without a shred of doubt. She could fix what was broken. Then she would finally realize—

“Why don’t we play a game now,” Shiori quipped, despite her defenses crumbling. “If I win, I get to stay on the fencing club and nothing you say will change that.”

Juri’s eyes widened. “But _why_?”

“And if _you_ win,” Shiori continued, “what do you want?” She leaned in closer, their masks bumping. “What have you _always_ wanted?”

The locket. The cut-up class photograph. The worn letters and unspoken words. The tears, the anguish, the silence. It overwhelmed Juri until she longed to plummet and scream.

“You explain how you found my locket,” she growled through clenched teeth, “and why you brought it back.”

Shiori froze. “What?”

Her strength vanished. Juri shoved her and nearly sent her to the ground. Shiori gasped and regained her footing, albeit sloppily.

“Don’t play stupid.” Juri advanced, though Shiori inched away. “Don’t tell me you didn’t return to the dueling grounds to pick up the broken pieces.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Shut up!” Juri swung at her and nicked her fencing jacket. “Who else would know about it? Who else would _bother_ to climb up there and scoop up every last piece to mend? And for what? To torture me all over again?!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You don’t _need_ to do anything!” Steel crashed together and knocked them askew. “You simply _exist_ and the deed is done! And you _know_ that! You returned it before—when I tossed it to the water. Of course you returned it to me again. Just to keep me under your thumb; to let me know that I can never be free.”

“Free?” Shiori yelped, parrying in time to prevent the blade from skewering her. “Free from what?”

Juri chuckled, the sound distorted from hysterics and heartbreak. “Who do you think?” She withdrew several feet and directed her rapier at Shiori. “You speak of miracles, as if some invisible force will free us from the emotions which strangle us. Tell me, Shiori—have you ever found these miracles? Or did you spew such lies to watch me squirm?”

Her arm fell to her side, yet her grip on the hilt stayed firm. “That’s not true.”

“Then what the hell is true, anymore?!” Juri whipped her blade before resuming her stance. It was enough to make Shiori flinch. “Why are you bothering with me?!”

Tension rippled across Shiori. “I could ask the same about you!” she snapped. “One second you want me miserable and the next you want what’s best for me. So what is it?! Were you never my friend all these years? Did you just take pity on me? Are you so disgusted with me because I get what I want in life?” She could picture a smirk under that mask to match the purr in her words. “Are you _jealous_?”

Sheer rage coated Juri’s blood. It smothered the squeak of a voice begging for her to stop, to yield to the tears she bottled up day after day, to drop to Shiori’s feet and plead for forgiveness. Whatever soft sentiments she harbored for her disappeared. Wrath stood prominent and fueled her racing heart. It propelled Juri to scream and lunge.

Their blades met. Shiori hardened herself and braced for the struggle. But Juri twisted her blade around Shiori’s, loosened her grip and dislodged the rapier. She swatted it out of Shiori’s hand, banishing it to the far corner of the room with a clatter. It was over and yet it had only begun. Juri closed the distance between them. Two steps backwards and Shiori’s back crushed into a wall. Juri stepped into her. A gasp surfaced. She ghosted the edge of the rapier along her neck.

“What is there to be jealous of?!” Juri bellowed. “Every day I wish I had never known you. Maybe then I could live without you plaguing my thoughts! You play dumb and indifferent and that alone makes you immensely cruel. I can’t tell anymore if it’s an act or if you truly are oblivious to everything, but it makes me sick. The way you go about life… ruins lie in your wake and you never bother to look back to see the damage!”

She could almost feel Shiori swallowing against the blade. “Juri-sama—”

“Stop! Don’t! If you’ve _ever_ respected me, then why did you bring it back to me?”

Silence settled into the vast space, borderline tangible.

Juri slammed a fist into the wall beside Shiori. “Tell me, damn it!”

“Will it help?”

Her entire form froze. “What?”

“If I say something that will appease you? Even if it isn’t the truth? That’s all you wanted, isn’t it? To put your heart at ease? So long as it comes from me, it doesn’t matter if the world is aflame, because _I_ said it was alright.” She paused. “It’s nice to have that kind of power. I could get used to—”

“Shut up.” Juri pressed the blade harder into her throat, skin puckering, but not breaking.

“Why do you covet that _thing _so much?” When Juri didn’t answer, Shiori pressed on, “You could buy another locket, put whatever the hell you want in it.” Another pause. “All you have to do is ask, you know.”

Juri didn’t dare humor her with any response, be it with words or actions.

Shiori scoffed. “You truly are pathetic.” She rested a gloved hand over the blade threatening her. “You don’t mind if I suffer if it’s your doing, but… you can’t bring yourself to hate me, can you?”

“I have _always_ hated you,” Juri sputtered, wondering if she spoke to convince Shiori or herself.

“If you hate me so much, then why not let go and forget me?”

Juri parted her lips, but words eluded her. _I can__’t, because—_

“Would it help if you knew I hated you?”

An icy chill raced up her spine. It brought a tremble to her hand and sapped the strength which strained to exist.

“I hate how popular you are,” Shiori said, her drawl coated with poison. “I hate how you’re good at everything you do. I hate how you make violent acts graceful. I hate how perfect you are and forever will be. I hate how nothing can touch you, like you exist on a pedestal outside of mortality. I hate how you look at me, like I’m trash stuck on your shoe. I hate how beautiful you are. I hate—”

“Shiori, _stop_.” But her voice cracked and her eyes prickled with tears and her knees dared to buckle and—

“_Why_?” she demanded. “Why should I ever listen to you? Why should I _bother_? You talk about how I torment you… but did you ever stop to think you did the same for me?”

She thought of the lulls where she found solace and the picture stowed in her locket. If no one knew… then no one would be hurt. But the damage had already been done. They were merely vultures fighting over bones of a carcass cleaned long before they arrived.

How could Shiori possibly understand what she endured, though? Unless—

“I’m done playing games!” Shiori cried. Her resilient tone wavered. “I’m done with _you_!”

Open palms slammed into Juri’s shoulders. She gasped, the inhale skittering like dull knives. Juri stumbled backwards. Clumsy feet failed her and she leaned into her descent.

She didn’t expect her name lost in a shrill. She didn’t expect the hand reaching out to her.

Fingertips brushed the sleeves of their uniforms. So fleeting, almost surreal. Then a firm hand snatched her wrist. Juri reciprocated, or tried to. Gravity claimed her far before anyone wished to save her.

And she fell. Her back smashed into the floor. Agony rippled in her muscles, yet it paled to the weight crushing her. Juri winced, tilted her head, and froze.

Shiori nestled against her, masked face buried in the crook of Juri’s neck. Their bodies met, their legs intertwined, and Shiori still secured her hand around Juri’s wrist.

Her heart pumped wildly. Or was it Shiori’s heart thumping against her? The warmth between their bodies, even through their uniforms, contrasted with the cold floor.

Juri never wanted to leave that spot.

“Shiori…,” she whispered. Or maybe she imagined it, just like everything else that had transpired.

A groan vibrated past her mask. Stirring against Juri, Shiori pressed a free hand into the floor to push herself to seated. Her mask was cocked, loosened from the fall, and came undone as she rose. The object crashed beside them. Behind the veil of her own mask, Juri gawked.

Shiori caught her breath, poking out her tongue to moisten her lips. Deep, rapid breaths brought a subtle rise and fall to her chest. Wavy hair clung to her sweaty face; she flicked away the loose strands in her eyes.

Finally, their gazes met.

She braced herself for the cold, bitter prattle Shiori would indulge her with. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To taunt Juri with what she could never have? _Just look at you,_ she could already hear Shiori saying. _Can__’t help yourself, so you dragged me out here to take advantage of me. Well, well… maybe you should have a taste of your own medicine._

The weight vanished from her wrist. Shiori shifted again, her hips sinking deeper into Juri’s. Her brows tented and lips curled downwards. Slight motions, nothing compared to the dramatics when she begged Ruka for a second chance. Juri longed for those over-the-top gestures; maybe then she could read Shiori’s intentions.

Shiori brought her hand to her mouth, tugging the tips of her glove with her teeth until it loosened enough for her to discard. The other glove received the same fate. All the while, her eyes were fixed on Juri’s.

Hands ghosted Juri’s shoulders and up her neck. Juri hitched her breath, half awaiting those delicate hands to strangle her. Instead, they smoothed over the front of her mask, looped behind, and unlatched the buckle. She lifted it and orange ringlets spilled out, splaying across the floor. Juri bit the insides of her cheek and evaded Shiori’s stare, but there was no denying the heat flooding her features.

She sat there, looking over Juri with… with what? Pity? Shame? Disgust? If only she would _speak_ and not prolong the moment.

Soft hands cupped her face. A thumb teased the edge of her mouth.

Juri hissed in air. Her hand closed around the rapier’s hilt. She brandished the blade once more, holding it against Shiori’s throat.

The idle motions of her thumbs stopped. Shiori smiled, though melancholy lined her lips. _No_, Juri thought, _she__’s not capable of such emotions._

“I understand now,” Shiori said, quieter than Juri believed was possible.

Juri blinked. “What?”

Shiori leaned in. The flat of the blade pressed into her throat. The sword drew no blood; even if it did, Juri doubted it would hinder her advances.

“You hated me,” Shiori breathed out, her exhale washing over Juri’s lips. “I thought I knew why, but….”

“But _what_?”

Dusk’s residual warmth glimmered in her eyes. “We’re not so different, you and I.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to kick her. She wanted to smack sense into her for once in her damn life. She wanted to reason that Shiori knew nothing, that they were opposite ends of the spectrum.

She wanted and she couldn’t. Not when Shiori bumped noses with her, drew in a deep breath, and caught Juri’s lips with her own.

Heat seared in that lush kiss. She melted into Juri from the subtle roll in her hips to her heartbeat thrumming in sync with Juri’s. Each nibble, each curious movement itching for more… it sparked within Juri, from her lips to her toes, and dared to burn down all Ohtori Academy if it meant securing those tender lips against her.

The hilt shook in Juri’s hand. They broke away briefly, gasping and cooing. Shiori parted her lips to speak. The cold steel fell, crushed between their breasts. Juri clutched the back of her head with a free hand and plunged Shiori into another kiss—harder, hungrier. Greedy hands raked Shiori’s hair and traveled over the curve of her rear. Juri squeezed and Shiori purred; never had Juri witnessed such a lovely sound.

The kisses alone intoxicated Juri. She was satisfied with the lingering touches and persistent nibbles, but her body ached for more. And when they strayed from innocent kisses and tossed and turned along the floor and their uniforms peeled off and twilight washed over their bodies, Shiori chanted Juri’s name until she screamed it.

And Juri didn’t mind. She simply smiled and drank her in until she only felt Shiori.

* * *

Cold water cascaded over Juri. She clutched her shoulders, massaging the boulder-like muscles there. No relief came. Not from the shower, not from her actions, nothing. How was she to drown the millions of screaming thoughts?

_What have I done?_

She lowered her head. Curls loosened and gave way to damp waves that framed her face. Water rolled off her chin.

Recent memories surfaced in rapid succession—a moment she saved for her daydreams, now fully realized. Those decadent lips, her soft moans, every wriggle of her hips… and that smile.

_Her_ smile.

Juri’s nails dug into her flesh. It was a _mistake_, just another game she unwittingly accepted and lost. She should have known better; she should have ignored the temptation and saved herself from humiliation awaiting her the next day. What would it be this time? Live footage looping over loud speakers? _Be reasonable,_ Juri thought, only to remember that if her locket magically returned to her, then anything was possible.

Shiori’s only limitation was her imagination, after all.

“Juri-sama.”

She was unaware of the footsteps approaching her. The gentle voice garnered her attention, but it was the arms embracing her from behind which brought a hitch in her throat.

Shiori’s nude form pressed into Juri as she nuzzled into her neck. “Aren’t you cold?”

Juri opted for silence.

“Or did you run out of hot water?”

She tried to ignore the idle shapes Shiori’s fingertips drew into her skin, tried to ignore the brush of lips over her neck, tried to—

“I could warm you up instead.” Her hands traveled over her sides, one settling onto her thigh while the other teased her breast. “If you’d like.”

The water she grew numb to pierced her. Soft hands morphed into hot pokers branding her. She felt too much and not enough. Juri jerked her head with a gasp and snapped her arms back. Shiori released Juri, staggering until she regained balance.

“Juri-sama?” 

She didn’t look at Shiori as she left the shower. She didn’t check to see if she was still there while she dried off and dressed. She left the locker room and walked to her dormitory alone, where she collapsed into bed, buried her face in her pillow, and feared the world would crumble with her.


	3. Chapter 3

The curtains shifted in the breeze. Echoes of conversations bled into white noise, broken by the occasional, excited yell of student. The bells chimed. So did the phone on her desk. Juri lay on her back, stared at the ceiling, and stroked Mochi.

Her cat took it upon himself to curl up on her stomach and hadn’t moved. Not to Juri’s knowledge, anyways. But she hadn’t moved, either. Her alarm blared, the sun trickled through the window, and yet she resigned herself to her bed until… she didn’t know when. Until this dull emptiness left? Until everyone forgot who she was and why she was there?

Until she unearthed how to love someone else?

The final ring of her phone cut short and played the audio recording of her voice message. After the tone, another voice filled her dorm.

“Juri-san?” It was Miki. Of course he would call. “I hadn’t seen you this morning and… well, I overheard talk of how you were still upset over what happened during fencing yesterday. Are you alright? It isn’t like you to miss classes.” Light laughter followed. “I guess I’m just worried. Whatever the case may be, I hope you’re okay. Please let me know if you need anything. I can grab your homework. I can inform the fencing club that today’s practice is canceled, if you’d like.” He paused. Static from the speaker crackled. “Take care, Juri-san.”

A click and the message ended. Juri never flinched, petting Mochi while his purrs vibrated her body.

She longed for sleep, to drift from reality for a few minutes. But the memories burned into her vision and churned her stomach. She clamped a hand over her mouth, swallowing whatever nausea wished to surface.

How was she to face life, let alone the day? This world wasn’t meant for someone like her. She played by society’s rules, but Juri wasn’t one for acting. If she couldn’t confront her problems like a fencing duel, she was hopeless. What _could_ she do? Why announce something that went against what people believed? What would they think of her then? Exemplary student, fencing club captain, idol to the younger students… all of it tarnished because she couldn’t control who she loved.

She blinked, unable to withhold the tears. Juri sucked in a shaky breath and dug the heel of her palms into her eyes. Why did she have to be different? She didn’t _want_ a life where she bottled her true feelings. Now she amassed a collection worthy of a wine connoisseur’s envy. But how else was she to live? To walk the halls and receive disapproving stares? All the whispers would be meant for her. Would those who praised her still sing their gratitude? Or would they strike her down over a passing glance?

Juri balled her hands into white-knuckled fists. She hated it: how fickle people were over trivial truths, how one’s efforts and dreams were smothered due to their affections, how she had no choice in the matter since the beginning.

Since she met Shiori.

She wished she had never met her, that Shiori didn’t exist. But if it wasn’t Shiori, then maybe another girl, another heartache waiting to happen.

_What did I do to deserve this? Why can_ _’t I ever be happy? Why can’t I change this?_

If only it _was_ that simple.

Voices sounded from outside, closer than before. Juri paid no attention until her name surfaced.

Then she realized who asked for her.

Pushing to seated, she peeked out her window. In the sweep distance stood several girls conversing with Shiori. They pointed to the building Juri resided in. Shiori turned in the general direction. Juri lingered, then plummeted into her pillow. Mochi meowed and repositioned himself while Juri tucked into a ball.

_What is she doing here?_

Or maybe she imagined Shiori asking for her along with Shiori standing there, seemingly gazing at her. The uncertainty swirled until Juri’s stomach flipped and her heart lodged in her throat. She almost convinced herself it was a figment of her imagination with each passing minute.

A soft knock came at her door.

Mochi let out a _brrp_ and perked up his ears. Juri held her breath.

Nothing.

A second knock followed.

“Juri-sama?” The door muffled the quiet words, but there was no denying who spoke them.

She clung to her pillow and buried her face there. _Go away,_ she wanted to say, but the courage to do so died the previous night. _What more do you want with me? You__’ve tortured me enough. You’ve _won. _Now leave me be._

One more knock, akin to a pitter-patter than a strike. “Please, if you’re in there, can we talk?”

Juri scoffed. _You__’re the worst._

“I’ve been worried about you since last night. Everything happened so fast and I… I don’t know what I expected. Not for you to leave like you did, I guess. So please, Juri-sama, you don’t need to let me in, but—” Her voice faltered, but not in the way it had when she performed her antics. “—can you at least listen? I promise I’ll leave you alone forever if that’s what you want. Just… let me get this off my chest? Please?”

Juri was satisfied with the silence which followed, though Mochi had other plans. He jumped to the floor and wandered to the door, tail held high while rubbing his face against the structure. The door jostled. Juri gasped and shot up.

“Juri-sama?” The handle twitched, though didn’t budge. Not unless Juri unlocked it. Like that was enough to stop Shiori. “Are you okay?”

Mochi meowed and flicked his tail with glee. Juri groaned. Leaving her bed, she rushed to the front door to scoop up her cat.

“_Leave_,” Juri spat out, prepared to march back to bed. The soft gasp on the other side, however, gave her pause.

“You _are_ there,” Shiori said.

“Did you not hear me?”

She didn’t reply immediately. “Why are you always like this?”

Juri refused to indulge her.

“Would it be different if a classmate came here asking for you? Or a fencing club member? Would you let me in if I was anyone but _me_?”

Juri feared if she breathed life to the thoughts, then she’d regret it.

“Will you listen to me?” Shiori asked. “Just this once? You won’t have to worry about me after today. I promise.”

So many promises, none of which were what Juri wished to swear upon.

Despite her intentions to collapse in bed with Mochi, she shuffled to the door, pressed her back into it, and slid down to the floor. “I’ll listen.”

The lack of response left Juri curious as to whether Shiori departed or not. She hugged Mochi, petting the soft fur to anchor herself. It wasn’t until Shiori’s voice emerged that the tension released from Juri.

“I don’t even know where to begin.” An airy giggle skittered from her lips. “I’ve spent so long thinking about this—about how I’d approach you and the right words to use—that now I’m at a loss. I guess I’m sorry for that, amongst many things. If I was any good with poetry, I might have spent countless nights trying to get it right, so that you would know the first time what it is that I feel.

“But feelings are a mess, aren’t they? We grow up with expectations of how to act and behave. It all seems fine on paper, but life doesn’t consider those unwritten standards. It’s quite awful, when you think about it. Everything and nothing matters. What I say here won’t change what happened, but if I _don__’t_ say anything, I don’t know what to do with myself.

“Maybe that’s why I’ve done what I’ve done. Not just last night, but… since the beginning.” There was a pause. “Do you remember when we met, Juri-sama?”

Juri tilted her head. Mochi finally settled in her arms and purred up a storm. “Yes,” she eventually said. _How could I ever forget?_

Shiori released another giggle, though it sounded it more like a short cry an injured animal made. “You were amazing. Still are. So tall and smart and mature and… well, I could spend all day listing all the reasons. The whole time, I couldn’t help but think that you hung out with me out of pity. I was no one special. I’m not from a rich family or have stellar grades or looks. I’m just _me_. And you chose to spend your time with me, despite what everyone else did.

“I loved it and hated it. I wanted everything to be next to you, but I wanted to destroy you. I wish I had an explanation as to why, but there isn’t. We were young and we were cruel and we didn’t know better. Maybe I thought I’d be happy if I made you less perfect.” Her voice cracked. “I wish I hadn’t. I wish I knew then what I know now.”

Juri closed her eyes, unable to cease her mind from replaying the days leading up to Shiori’s transfer. “Would you have done things differently?”

“I might have stolen _you_ from _him_ instead of the other way around.”

She imagined that. She had to. Along with the immaculate locket on her nightstand and the events which transpired last night and—

“I hated myself.”

Juri fluttered her eyes open. A slight weight pressed into the door. Through the cracks at the bottom, the shadows shifted. A _thump_ sounded, no different from how Juri slid to the floor moments ago.

“Shiori?” Juri turned her head to press an ear against the door. Was she crying?

“It was just another _thing_ that would make me stand out. Not in a good way, either. People loved to hate me, but they didn’t hate me as much as I hated myself. I didn’t _ask_ for these feelings and yet it happened. I tried to fight it. I thought if I hung out with enough cute boys, then I’d forget about you. I tried _so_ hard. It didn’t get me anywhere, though. And when I found out what you held in that locket?”

Juri swallowed hard. Her heart pumped louder than Mochi’s purrs.

“I hated myself more. All this time I hurt you and I could have spent it loving you. And what I did… no, that’s no excuse. What I did was _awful_. I manipulated you. Who the hell does that to the one they care about? I thought… maybe if I tried to win that power everyone kept fighting for, then I could change—myself and the world. Of all the things I should’ve done, I did everything but let you know what I really felt.

“But I did what I had always done. I thought it was a lie, a joke at my own expense. I told myself I was disgusted with you when I was truly disgusted with me. I hated who I was and yet you cared more about me than anyone I’ve ever known. I… I don’t know why. You have every reason to hate me and tell me to go away. I used your secret against you, thinking if I was like those who destroy people like us, then it would fix myself. I wish I _could_ fix things. Anything to end this pain. But I can’t, Juri-sama. I can’t ignore how I feel, no matter what I do. I’m sorry until the day I die, but that doesn’t change what happened. You deserve someone who wouldn’t toy with your heart.

“And yet… last night. I thought it was enough. I didn’t need to say anything. But I made things worse, didn’t I?” She sniffled. “I’m such a joke. What I said to you… I didn’t mean it.” Silence persisted until Shiori coughed up a sob. “Why are we so cruel to the ones we love?”

Utena had said something similar once. Not word for word, but Juri recalled the fury in Utena’s stare when she demanded Juri to help Shiori after the display she and Ruka made. Damn it, she _wanted_ to. She longed to shove everyone aside, punch Ruka’s smirk off his face, and scoop Shiori into her arms. The hundreds upon hundreds of students watching, however, convinced Juri to ignore the agonizing screams Shiori released.

_We__’re no different, you and I_. That’s what she said the other night. Juri couldn’t forget if she tried.

“Because,” Juri spoke slowly, “we can forgive those we love.”

“Juri-sama?”

A shiver overcame her and Juri sighed. “I wanted so badly to be _normal_. I thought if I could choose who I loved, then I would have nothing to fear or hide. Everyone spoke of me as if I was a goddess or something and yet I know if they knew what I truly felt, they would have torn me down. All these years… I’ve spent them surviving, not living. Every day I tried to forget you and every day a reminder of you would come up and I’d fall for you all over again. I feared if I told you, you’d hate me. Figured it was safer to keep everyone in the dark—for myself and you. I keep opening my heart to you and you shatter it again and again. You think I’d learn by now. Or maybe I enjoy the punishment.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“But it’s like you said—we’re young and cruel and don’t know the difference. The idea of talking like this… it petrified me. I think I would have sooner taken a thousand final exams than ever confess what I felt to you.”

Shiori laughed, albeit frail. “Yeah. I get that.”

“And I wanted to bottle anything and everything I ever felt while you wanted to use it against me to prove you weren’t like me. All so we could be accepted in this strange world.” Juri blinked and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I wasn’t a shining example, either.”

“Juri-sama?”

“What I subjected you to last night… that’s no way to handle anything. I was furious and convinced you were taunting me again and I had _enough_.” Now it was Juri’s turn to laugh. “All over a stupid locket. That makes no sense, does it? Someone with their head screwed on would’ve just asked you point-blank.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Juri echoed. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“That sounds like something I heard in one of my literature classes—the things we do for love.”

“The things that make us fools?”

“Yeah. That.”

“You’re not a fool, Shiori.”

“Neither are you. We were upset and didn’t want to hurt, so we make others hurt in hopes they understand how we feel.”

“Do you still feel that?”

“Hurt?”

“Mmm.”

Shiori was silent for some time. “I’m madder at myself for letting things come to this. Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t me who brought back your locket?”

Juri eyed the nightstand. The gold glistened in the sunlight.

“I don’t know,” Juri murmured.

“I wish I _had_ found it.”

“Why?”

“To start over, I guess? Last time I gave it to you… no, it doesn’t matter. I’m just talking myself in circles, now. You’re probably sick of listening to me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well then… are you?”

“No.”

“What _are_ you sick of?”

Juri heaved out a breath. “Stingy teachers, students asking for homework answers, cafeteria food….”

Shiori chuckled. “You’re terrible.”

“Just telling the truth.”

Silence returned. It brought a skip to Juri’s heart.

“Juri-sama?”

“Hmm?”

Another pause. “What do we do now?”

“About what?”

“About _us_?”

It pained Juri to not have an immediate answer.

“After last night,” Shiori said, “I can’t forget what happened. I don’t _want_ to.”

The previous night struck Juri like lightning: Shiori’s lips on hers, the wanton movements into each other, the breaths they took before diving in for more.

“A bit too late to start over,” Juri jested.

“I know. I thought… it would make the situation better, that we would be on a lighter note than screaming during a sword fight.”

Juri looked to the floor. Mochi fell asleep somehow amidst the babbling and crying. She sniffled, running a loose fist beneath her nose.

“I loved it.”

“Loved what?” Juri asked.

“You know what.”

She did, and yet…. “Tell me.”

She imagined Shiori blushing.

“I loved how you held me. I loved you looked at me. I loved—” Rustling sounded through the door. “—when you kissed me.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere. My lips, my neck, my fingers, my stomach, my thighs. Between my eyebrows and between my legs.”

“And here I thought you only enjoyed the swordplay.”

Shiori scoffed. “Well… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited by your blade against my neck.”

_You little minx._

“And you?”

Juri shook her mind free from the gutter. “What about me?”

“Did you love it?”

Did she need to even ask?

“I loved,” Juri replied, extending her words to carefully pick the right ones, “how I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“The world. Until there was only you.”

“Just me?”

Juri nuzzled into the door, wishing to kiss away the tears Shiori cried while ignoring her own. “Always you,” she murmured, settling a hand against the door.

Shiori audibly sighed. “People will hate us, you know.”

“Perhaps.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not nearly as much as the idea of never having you.”

Shiori paused. “We can change their minds.”

“How?”

“Show that we’re stronger than them. We’ve survived far worse, haven’t we? And on our own, nonetheless. But if we stayed together, maybe nothing will tear us apart.” A beat, then, “Or maybe that’s as good as a daydream. This world isn’t meant for us.”

“No.”

“Still… I’d like to try changing things. I don’t have to mimic those who tormented me in the past; I can be myself and I can improve.”

“Is that enough, though?”

“I don’t know, but how _are_ we supposed to know? This academy is just a bubble shielding us from the real world.” Shiori sighed. “Maybe by then, we don’t have to hide.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

“Shiori?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not telling you before you left. You were never a joke to me. I loved how genuine you were. Or I thought you were, anyways.”

“Juri-sama—”

“Keeping a secret only tore me apart. If I came to that conclusion sooner, then….”

“Hey. It’s okay.”

The unspoken words echoed between them: _We were young and we were cruel and we didn__’t know better._

“I don’t want you to leave,” Juri murmured, unsure if Shiori even heard her. “Not then, not now, not ever again. I’d rather have the entire academy shun me if it meant you paid attention and understood. I… I can’t do this anymore. I can’t hide who I am or how I feel about you or—”

She clung to Mochi, stirring him from his slumber, and cried into his plush fur. She hated how weak and pathetic she sounded. How could anyone admire someone like that, let alone Shiori?

“Juri-sama? What _do_ you want?”

“Stay.” The word gushed from her feeble lips between gasps and sobs. “Please.”

After what felt like an eternity, Shiori spoke, “May I come in, Juri-sama?”

Scooting from the door—and unfortunately stirring Mochi out of her lap—Juri unlocked it and pulled it open. Shiori sat on the floor, inches from where Juri was, hugging her knees. She gasped and spun around. Their glossy eyes met. Juri was a hot mess in her nightgown and unruly hair with Shiori donning her pristine uniform. But Shiori looked to her as Juri had with her all those years.

And when Shiori dove for her, Juri welcomed her with open arms. They wept into each other’s hair, digging nails into one another and ignoring the door slowly closing shut.

* * *

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

Halfway through undressing, Juri peeked over her shoulder. Shiori’s back faced her while she dangled a feather on a stick over Mochi. His pupils enlarged as he wiggled his butt and launched at the dastardly contraption. Shiori giggled, swishing the feather out of his reach.

Juri smiled. “I’ve had him for a few years, give or take.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“No?” She resumed removing her nightgown to change into her uniform. “Why’s that?”

“You always struck me as a cat person. You’d need a pet as dignified as you.”

Juri snorted. “Mochi isn’t what I’d call dignified; you haven’t seen him eat.”

“Still—” Shiori placed the feather down to scritch behind his ears. “—he’s a sweetie.”

“He’s kept me company when I felt lonely.” Juri paused after fastening her pants. “He almost didn’t make it.”

“What do you mean?”

“My older sister found him. There was a cardboard box barely floating on the river. When she heard a mew coming from it, she dove in and saved him. Turned out she was allergic to cats, but she gave him to me.” Juri slid her jacket on and fluffed her curls over her shoulders. “He was just a kitten and someone didn’t want him anymore. It felt like he was the only one who understood what I felt—and he’s a _cat_.”

“Juri-sama,” Shiori said, pain coating her voice.

“He just needed a little love. That’s all.”

Soft footsteps approached her. Arms swept her into a tight hug. A sad smile tugged at Juri’s lips as their hands linked.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” Shiori whispered into her neck.

“I know.” She squeezed her hands. “Neither do you.”

Shiori turned Juri around. Her usual smile brightened her face, but something was different. Maybe it was in her eyes.

“Come on.” Shiori zipped up Juri’s jacket and patted her chest. “Let’s go.”

“To where? Class? We’ll get in trouble for turning up late.”

Shiori shrugged. “Does it matter? Besides, you’re on the student council; you can talk your way out of anything.”

“That’s not exactly how it works.”

“Mmm, I guess.” Shiori approached the door and Juri followed. “But anywhere is good.”

“Is it?”

Shiori hummed and nodded. “So long as I’m with you? Of course.”

Juri paused before the door, ignoring Mochi rubbing against her legs. “Are you scared?”

“Always.” Then she clung to Juri’s arm. “But I’d rather be scared with you than on my own.”

Blush colored Juri’s face. Instead of turning away, she smiled and tightened her hold on Shiori. “Are you ready?”

“No, but we can’t stay on this sinking ship forever.”

Juri slid her hand across Shiori’s arm. She scooped up Shiori’s hand, cradled it with care, and brought it to her lips to kiss those delicate knuckles. Shiori’s eyes widened and cheeks flushed. Then her fingers curled into Juri’s.

And there was that smile again—on her lips and in her eyes.

After scratching Mochi, Juri stood upright again, looped her arm around Shiori’s, and opened the door. “Then let’s swim.”


End file.
